The First Annual Hunger Games (SYOT closed)
by MessyModgePodge
Summary: The nation of Panem is broken, still rising from the ashes of a civil war. The Districts revolted against the Capitol. They still do. The revolution was nearly stopped by the destruction of District 13, but the rest of it dies with the Hunger Games. SYOT closed! (T for Hunger Games)
1. Prologue

**Essex Nickelby, Age 26, Former Capitol Secretary, Rebel Informant**

Brandt Solveins, the Head Peacekeeper, pulls the chain around my wrists tighter. It's practically a leash for my hands. "Keep your head down and, as much as I want to, don't make me shoot you." There's so much bitterness and hatred in his voice. It's funny how a voice that once laughed with you, teased you, or whispered secrets to you can be so ruthless sounding towards you. Yes, Brandt was my friend once. No longer.

I suppose it's both my fault and his fault that he hates me. His fault for being a true, patriotic, loyal Capitol citizen. And mine for being, well, not. But I supposed any man would be upset when he found out a person he trusted, talked to frequently, and loved like a brother was a traitor.

Despite Brandt's command/threat, I look around. I had only seen the Districts once before, so even the dirty alleyways are new and exciting. I'm disappointed when my eyes land on a Capitol poster. "Essex Nickelby," it proclaims. "Active rebel sympathizer. Traitor to his country, his friends, his calling. He is one of them, not one of us. There are more like him. Protect your wives, your children, yourself, because there are more like this scum out there." After that, it becomes a bit harder to find novelty in the uneven bricks and the bold graffiti.

"Well," I grumble, my eyes still pinned to the poster. "Isn't that flattering?"

"Head down," Brandt growls. With his giant hand pushing down my neck, it's not like I have much choice.

"Ow, is that any way to treat an old friend?" I say lightly.

Brandt squeezes harder, pulling me back so I can feel his breath against my ear. "You're no friend of mine, dog. You and me, we're enemies now. It's not what I wanted, but you've given me no choice but to hate you. Now keep. Your head. Down."

He drops me and I roll my neck. "I feel like some smart person said that there's always a choice."

My vision flashes red and I fall to my knees with a bang. A small cut has opened on the back of my head. He hit me. Brandt hit me. I'd say traitor, but who am I to talk? His eyes are fixed straight ahead of him angrily, and he doesn't even glance in my direction when he drags me to my feet. He doesn't say anything for a while. Neither do I.

When Brandt pushes me out of the alley, I see we're in District Eight. The destruction everywhere is enough to show me that. As I'm lead through the wreckage, I see a red porch swing in splinters. I remember that swing. It was described so lovingly in letters the rebels sent to me to help me verify their identities. I pass a caved in house with a domed roof. The rebel leader was so proud of his house. It had a roof like that. I step over a dented blue bike lying in the middle of the road. I wonder if it belonged to Zaid, the son that a rebel operative wanted a better life for. Brandt stops me in the middle of a square. The buildings surrounding us are barely standing. Some aren't even doing that much. A crumbling stage stands in front of me, and I remember the last rebel speech proclaimed from it.

Brandt forces me to my knees. "This is what you betrayed me for," he says. His voice breaks a bit as he gestures towards the ruins. " _Nothing_. You deceived me and defied your country for _nothing_." I look over the square and nod.

"Was it worth it? Losing me and gaining some rubble?"

I glance at Brandt. His blue eyes are blurry with tears, and his once glossy brown hair is overgrown and messy. "Losing you and gaining rubble," I repeat. "That's not what I gained, Brandt. I gained a shot at freedom. Even if it didn't work... I don't know. In an answer to your question, it was worth trying."

Brandt looks down and wipes his face. "I'm supposed to kill you now," he says.

"I know."

"Are you afraid?" he asks.

Am I afraid? I may die, but I'll die fighting for justice. And that knowledge gets rid of my fear. "No."

He nods. "Maybe if you had been, things would have turned out better for you," Brandt says. He points the gun at my face. I close my eyes and smile. I am not afraid.

 **This is an SYOT! Please submit Tributes. The form is on my profile. Because the rebellion has just ended, your Tributes' background can be or maybe even should be intense, complex, and/or tragic. Please submit a maximum of three Tributes! Thanks!**


	2. Astrid Mendaline, District Two Female

**Astrid Mendaline, District Two Female, age 16**

I close the door behind me. It's not that I don't want people to hear me, it's just that I don't like them barging in on me. Hopefully, they'll take the closed door as a sign to not enter. I set my wooden stool in front of the music stand; it's then and only then when I pull out my violin. It's really nice, made of the finest Macassar ebony wood. I run my fingers along the swirling etches on the side. We've been able to afford things like this since the war. I never really believed that war was a financially beneficial thing until now. The Capitol really put Dad's weaponry shop to use, and, oh, were we paid well. I helped Dad make some of those weapons, and I like to think my handiwork helped win the war for the Capitol. The slight callouses from metal-working are totally worth it. Besides, they stop my fingers from hurting so much when I play my violin.

I put the instrument up to my chin. Gracefully dragging the bow across the strings, I hear the violin croon. Another pull, faster this time, makes it cry beautifully. Before I know it, I've knocked the chair over. My pony-tailed hair swings wildly back an forth with the rhythm of the music. My eyes are closed because the notes aren't coming off the paper anymore, they're coming from my soul, my essence. I'm in the middle of some seriously creative genius when the door slams open.

I jump, losing my flow. "Adrian!" I scowl, turning to face my little brother. "Great, you've messed me up. That song was just murdered by your terrible timing. What are you even doing in here?" I ask, frustratedly shaking my violin bow at him.

He sidles casually in, ignoring the stick I'm waving in his face. "What song?" he asks, feigning innocence. "All I heard was the shrieks of a dying goose." He struggles to hide the smirk spreading on his face.

I fold my arms and scowl again. I know he doesn't mean it, but that was _art_. "You can tell me what you want or you can get out of my room," I demand.

Adrian grumbles and flops onto my bed. "Ugh, don't remind me. Mom invited Whitney Beovinia in today," he moans.

"Oh my gosh, again?" I ask, incredulous. Whitney's a know-it-all brat who will start bawling if anyone even begins to point it out. Even though Mom knows I hate the kid, her loving, maternal soul demands that she takes everyone in. Including Whitney.

Adrian nods mournfully. I pity him enough that I let him stay, as his room is downstairs . I bend down to start putting my violin away. I gingerly polish every inch of wood before setting it delicately back into the velvet-lined case. When I glance back up, Adrian's absorbed in a thick book. I read the title, finding that it's an adventure story known for its hilarious characters and outlandish events. I had no idea my brother was into comedy. Or books at all, really. I never really talk to him outside of school, where he's all bluster and charm. His invasion of my room is not a common occurrence. It's kind of sad how little I know my own baby brother.

* * *

Having successfully sneaked past Mom and Whitney's heart to heart, I'm more at ease on my walk down to the forge. Dad's there again today, and I like helping him out. I walk happily, excitedly down the row of proud marble buildings. I screech to a halt in front of the forge, knocking hard before entering. "Hey, Dad!" I call. "It's Astrid!"

"In the back!" he acknowledges.

I open the door to the back room, and there's a loud hiss. When the steam clears, my dad is pulling the cooling sword from a bucket of water. "Hey, Astrid. Finish this for me?" He tosses the weapon towards me gently and I grab the handle.

"Sure," I say, hefting the sword up a bit. "This one's got a really nice balance, Dad," I comment.

He nods. "The mayor's boy is taking up swordplay."

I roll my eyes. "Ugh, Mitchell? I can't _stand_ that kid. It's a pity to waste such a sword on a snob like that."

"Oh, my gosh, I know!" a voice giggles. It's not my father. "He's really mean to the littler kids, and _soo_ full of himself."

I smile. I don't have to turn around to know that it's Ellie, bubbly conversationalist, kind-hearted extrovert,and best friend extraordinaire. "Hi, Ellie," I say. Dad gives a curt nod in her direction.

"Hi, Astrid! Hi, Carter!" she chirps. Dad cocks an eyebrow at her. My friends don't normally call him by his first name. Ellie grins and corrects herself. "I mean, hi, High King Sir Dad Mendaline of the Round Table."

Dad sighs. "Hi, Eleanor."

Ellie grins. "I was just wondering if I could steal Astrid for a bit. I'm kind of bored, and I want to hang out with her before the Reaping tomorrow."

I shake my head. "I'm finishing up this sword for Dad. When I'm done, I can go." I always finish what I start; it's only respectable. Not to mention that Dad's trained a good work ethic into me, and now it's practically second nature.

Dad nods at the door. "Go ahead, Astrid. I'll work on the sword."

"Dad-" I start to protest. There's no need for him to work on something that I said I would do. Besides, I love refining weaponry with Dad. The process is interesting and the final product is always so satisfying. It's amazing how a lump of metal can change into a gorgeous blade, and even more impressive that I can do it. I honestly take great pride in the work.

"It's okay. Go ahead." Dad smiles.

Well, okay. I love spending time with Ellie as much as I like forging. "Thanks, Dad," I say, giving him a quick peck on the forehead before handing the sword to him and following Ellie out the door.

"Sooo," Ellie asks as soon as we're out of earshot. "Whatcha wanna do?" I shrug. "Okay, then," she says. "Let's just chill and talk." She flashes one of her bubbly smiles at me. "We should talk about something really deep before the Reaping tomorrow."

I crack a smile. "What is the difference between sorbet and sherbet?"

"Oooh, that's a hard one," she smirks, stroking her chin dramatically. "No one actually has any idea." We laugh. "But actually, though. Are you scared? I mean, I know it's punishment for the rebels so I shouldn't have to worry, but I kind of am. It's kinda scary, because I don't wanna get Reaped and have to-"

I cut her off. "Don't worry about it. I'm going to Volunteer."

"Well, that's really nice of you, but I probably won't get picked anyway, so, you know," she says and shrugs. She talks a lot when she's nervous. Well, she talks a lot all of the time, but especially when she's nervous.

I shake my head. That's not what I meant. "I'm going to Volunteer whether you get Reaped or not."

"Wait, what?" she asks, incredulous. "The Games are to punish the rebels. It's a death match! It's insane to Volunteer for something like that."

"Are you kidding me?" I say. "They're an opportunity. I want to serve the Capitol in any way I can, and the Games will just go to prove my loyalty to them. If that means paying the ultimate sacrifice, then so be it."

"But, Astrid..." Ellie fussed.

"Ellie," I argue, my eyes pleading. "This is how prove my loyalty. It'll be an honor to vanquish rebels in the name of the Capitol, and I'd be proud to serve my country."

She looks at me skeptically. "Are you sure this is what you want?"

I nod. "Positive."

"Well, then," she states, smiling a sad smile. "Go for it. I believe that you can win it. If it's really that important to you, then I'll support you however I can."

I beam and wrap her in a hug. "You're the best, Ellie."

 **So, that's Astrid! Thanks to ChocoDeeDee for her. I like her a lot, and I really appreciate all the detail that went into her form! I hope I did her justice, and if you want me to change anything, I will.**

 **To everyone, please submit Tributes! I still have a _lot_ of spots open, and I'll try really hard to write them how you want them. I accept 3 Tributes per submitter! **

**What are you readers' thoughts on Astrid? Should I do an actual Reaping scene, or is the little insight into the Tribute's life helpful? Is the focus too much on the Tribute's relationships, or did you get a good feel for who she is? Also, how is the length of this chapter? Should it be longer? Shorter?**

 **Thanks!~MessyModgePodge**


	3. Cadanium Frost, District One Female

**Cadanium Frost, District One Female, age 16**

I watch the younger kids' poor attempt at play, gnawing on the hard chunk of bread the orphanage gives out. The children's frolicking is half-hearted, though. For most of them, their parents died in the war. Like mine.

Though there are a few groups of chatting kids, no one comes to talk to me. I understand why, after the tongue-lashing I gave Marguerite, but still. I'm lonely. I don't know why I screamed at Marguerite the way that I did. She was just trying to be helpful.

"It's okay. It's okay," she had murmured, cautiously approaching my curled up form. "I know you're hurting. We all are here. But really, I want to he-" She had reached out and wrapped her arm around my shoulder like a mother. Like _my_ mother.

I had swatted that hand away. "Leave me alone! Stop it!" I had screeched. No matter how different my mom and I were, no matter how much the Rebel vs Capitol war was fought between me and my parents, no matter how much we knew each other to be wrong, I _loved_ my mom. And no one could even begin to replace her. She's dead now, blown to oblivion by the rebels I so firmly believe in. She's dead, like my father and like my brother Calix.

Oh, Calix. I miss him so much. I miss how proud he was of his Capitol uniform. I miss the way he would tousle my hair and mush together the last syllable of my name. I miss how he would hug me close before every one of his missions. Like the last one.

 _"You're wrong, Cadanium," he says, though the way he says it sounds more like Cadan-yum. Despite the smirk on his face, I know he is dead serious. "The Rebels are the problem, not the Capitol. And you should shut up about it before someone powerful reminds you."_

 _"Are you kidding me?" I growl. "Not this again. The Capitol is_ wrong _, and the Rebels are simply standing up for what they know is right," I protest._

 _"The Rebels don't know anything, much less what is right," he hisses. "You stay away from that lot."_

 _"How can I stay away from myself?" I retort. "_ I'm _a Rebel, Calix, and nothing you can say will change my mind."_

 _Calix's face softens. "Oh, Cadanium. I- We'll talk about this later. I have to go now."_

 _He turns to face the door and has his hand on the knob when he freezes. He turns back around, a sheepish look on his face. "Even though you don't know what you're doing or saying and you're a huge, obnoxious pain, I- I love you, sis." He envelopes me in a hug._

 _I don't return it._

It's the Capitol's fault he didn't come home that day, or even within the next month. He was dead. Yes, a Rebel hand pulled the trigger on the gun that killed him, but the Capitol fueled the shot. If it wasn't for the Capitol's cruel ways, there would be no Rebels. And my brother would still be alive. I hate the Capitol.

I didn't tell Calix I love him, or hug him back, but I sincerely love him and miss him. Maybe that's why I rejected Marguerite's hug and the other orphan's friendships. I'm so, so lonely, but it's not their company I'm looking for. It's my brother's.

 **Hi, readers! That was Cadanium, submitted by I believe in nargles too. I hope I did her justice!**

 **Sorry the chapter was extremely short. Cadanium had no living friends or family, so I couldn't really have her interacting with a lot of people. I liked Cadanium, but writing her was a little difficult for me for some reason. Again, sorry if she's not really what I believe in nargles too wanted.**

 **Everybody, please submit and review! (the Tribute list is on my profile)**

 **Thanks!~MessyModgePodge**


	4. Austen Wyme, District Four Female

**Austen Wyme, District Four Female, age 18**

"I can do it," I promise, looking Mom straight in the eye.

She stares right back at me. "Look, baby," she says. "I know you're strong and beautiful and tough, but-"

"And trained," I interrupt.

"What?"

"I'm trained, too. I've been spending a lot of time at Fisher's Academy recently, so my sword-wielding has improved drastically since you and Dad taught me how to swing it." Fisher's started out as a simple training facility to prepare aspiring fishermen for a rough life at sea. It taught mundane, easy things, like how to scale fish, fashion sails, or spear a passing mackerel. After the rebels started raiding the shipments to the Capitol, though, Fisher's started teaching people how to fight. While it used to churn out hardy seamen, it now churns out warriors.

This history may be one of the reasons I'm pretty much to only rebel that goes to Fisher's. I don't go so I can make sure fish gets to the Capitol, I go because I want to be prepared for anything. The people there respect that, so I've made friends, and the trainers show no bias against me. I mean, sure. Florida, Lorena, and Nina are pretty Loyalist and a little clique-y, but they help me train and are fun to be around. Thanks to them and my prior weapons knowledge from fighting against the Capitol, I am well versed in the way the sword swings.

"I mean, just think about it, Mom," I say. "You know I'm capable of winning, and riches are promised to the Victor! We wouldn't have to live like the losing side of a war anymore," I argue. Mom runs her hands through her hair and sets her elbows tiredly on the table.

"Logan!" she calls into the other room. "Come talk some sense into your daughter!"

"What wild plan does Gail have now?" my dad shouts back. Gail's my little sister, and her berserk imagination is always prompting her to do stupid things. Don't get me wrong, I love her, but she's always getting herself into trouble.

"Not Gail, Austen," Mom hollers. "She wants to be in the death match."

There's a silence for a minute, as if Dad's processing how to handle this. I hold my breath hopefully. He's always been the lenient one, who lets me have my own freedom and make my own choices. He steps into the room, brow creased in thought. The dish towel hangs forgotten in his hand, and he swishes it back and forth contemplatively. "She wants to do what now?"

"I want to Volunteer for the Hunger Games," I say. He purses his lips and looks like he's about to shoot down my plan, but I hurry to show him how I see things. "I'm strong, I've been working with you guys for years. I'm trained; what do you think I'm doing at Fisher's? And I- I can kill people. In the rebellion, I did, and I'm still intact. Come on, Dad, I can do it! And when I do, we'll be rich. You won't have to worry about paying me through college or keeping food on Gail's and my plate. And the glory, Dad! I know everybody whispers about us. As a rebel in a District of Loyalists, we aren't respected. The Games would get me, get _us_ that respect. I want to, Dad. Please?" There's complete silence for a little bit, and I know Dad's struggling about what to think. "Please, Dad," I repeat in a pleading tone. Maybe it'll push him off the fence and onto my side of this.

He runs his hands through his hair, stressed, and for the first time I notice the grey streaks. "Austen," he sighs. "You'll have to kill kids. Little kids, and unlike the rebellion, they don't all deserve to die. It's different."

"I know," I protest, "But I can handle it. If I don't do it, someone else will have to. Twenty-three kids are gonna die no matter what I do, so I might as well benefit from it."

"Austen!" Mom cries, incredulous. I guess I did sound rather insensitive.

Dad looks at me solemnly. "You're a woman now," he says, "and you are free to make your own decisions. Your mother and I will support you no matter your decision, but that doesn't mean it's the right thing to do, Austen. I don't want you to Volunteer, and neither does your mom, but we aren't going to make you do one thing or the other."

I look at my feet. It's hard, but I truly believe what I argued before. "All I want is your blessing," I murmur.

Mom won't meet my eyes. I think she's tearing up, and she grabs Dad's hand. Dad's having trouble looking at me, too, but he gives me a sharp nod. "You have it," he says.

I look at Mom. She's visibly torn over whether or not to agree. Somehow, she forces out a curt nod. That's all the affirmation I'm going to get, but I hardly need anything else.

 **There's Austen for you! Thanks to Lmklein20account2 for her. I hope I did her justice, even though I don't think I did.**

 **Sorry it's been an extraordinarily long time since I've updated. There's been a heavy load of school work. Austen was a bit of a confusing character to write(a rebel who Volunteered for glory), even though I liked her, so it took me a while to write her. That is, of course, not mentioning the three times that my computer spontaneously restarted in the middle of my writing, deleting most of my progress. Due to that, I hope you don't mind if it's not quite as good as it should be.**

 **Please, submit and review!**

 **Thanks!~ MessyModgePodge**


	5. Cedar Bunsen, District Seven Female

**Cedar Bunsen, District Seven Female, age 18**

"Come on," I said to the boy. He was wiggly and wavy like everything else seemed to be. Maybe he was ugly. I couldn't tell, and I didn't care. I heard giggling, high-pitched and watery giggling, and it took me a second to realize I was making that noise. It's a weird noise.

I tugged at his pants, but he held them around his waist. "You're the- the mental girl. The one that almost killed herself, like, six times! You're-you're crazy!" he stuttered in protest. His words sounded mushed together to me, so I laughed again.

I pulled him close to me and, in his ear, said, "Crazy gorgeous."

* * *

Ugly. Ugly and stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Because then there was a baby. An itty bitty baby in my belly. It looked like a seed, I think. Like a little baby tree, a sapling really, starting to sprout. I mean, I thought it did. Sometimes I don't know if what I think I'm seeing is what I'm actually seeing. I didn't want a little sapling. So I did the only logical thing. I cut it down.

But it wasn't a sapling. It was a baby. A baby me. So two years later, when another little baby, another sapling, wound up in my belly, I let it grow. And she was beautiful. She had big, beautiful eyes, and her little baby hairs clung to her little baby head. I called her Lyra, because she deserved a pretty name.

I don't know where she is now.

There was a boy. He was tall and pretty and everybody liked him, but he was mean. And there was a monkey. A big, green monkey with circle eyes and a scary smile. The monkey always followed the mean boy around, so I told him. I said, "There's a big, ugly green monkey behind you and you need to get rid of it."

He looked at me like he was disgusted, then pointed to little baby Lyra sucking her little baby thumb in my arms. "Well, there's an ugly monkey in your arms and you better get rid of it," he retorted. He insulted my baby. He insulted my little sapling!

Hastily but gently setting down Lyra, I lunged at the boy. The mean boy who wouldn't get rid of the big, green monkey with the circle eyes and scary smile. The boy screeched and fell backwards into the monkey. Kill the monkey. I swung my fist and it hit the boy/monkey, right in his circle eyes. It cowered, for a moment, then jumped back at me. I fell and it rolled over top of me. It punched me, right in the throat, so that's where I aimed on it. Kill the monkey. I clawed at it with my fingers and bit it with my teeth. Soon, I wasn't underneath of it anymore. It raised its arms and made a terrible, garble noise. Kill the monkey. I swatted the arms aside and bit again.

I stopped a little while later. It wasn't right. There wasn't a monkey anymore. Had I killed the monkey? No, no. There was only a bloody, bloody boy. A felled sapling. I couldn't help but see my little sapling, chopped down before it could even leave the womb.

Murder, they said. The police took me to jail, and later, they took my sapling away from me. Lyra.

I don't know where she is now.

* * *

That was two years ago. Since then, I've tried anything to find her, and when I couldn't, I tried to chop myself, my own sapling, down. I tried a lot. And I failed. Where is my sapling? I don't know, so when they declare the Hunger Games as a quell to the rebellion I didn't even know was happening, I laugh. It's a watery laugh, high-pitched and smudgy. Everything is wavy and watery. It's a weird noise.

 **Oh, boy, I hope that turned out okay. It's kind of supposed to be garbled, because Cedar's schizophrenia causes her thoughts to be wacky and distorted. Cedar is both bipolar and schizophrenic, with hallucinations, depression, and a bumpy(to say the least)** **past. Poor girl. Thanks to Nordic Nonsense for submitting her. I hope she's written like you wanted her to be. I promise I tried.**

 **P.S. I tried to do a little research on schizophrenia and bipolar, but know that very little of this is factual and none of it is intended to offend anyone! If I'm wrong, it's because I'm not informed, not because I'm attacking Cedar's disorders. Thanks for understanding :)**

 **Submit and review, please! I still have _loads_ of open slots. Thanks!~ MessyModgePodge**


	6. Haven Ganado, District Ten Male

**Haven Ganado, District Ten Male, age 17**

Lindsay swings the door of my room open and trots in, carefree. I give her an annoyed glance, and she rolls her eyes good naturedly. "I don't need your permission to be in here, Haven. It's not like it's _your_ house," she teases. She drags a beanbag chair out of the corner and gives my hand a friendly squeeze before lugging the chair out the door.

I avert my gaze to the floor. While my little cousin's only eight years old, her comment still makes me upset. Despite the open arms that Uncle Woody and Aunt Beatrice welcomed me with earlier this year, I can't help but feel out of place. I haven't connected with my extended family, even though they love me and have tried many times to get me to open up. It's not their fault. It's hard to connect with someone who won't talk to you. I don't speak often, which I understand makes me less approachable. I've hardly spoken since the bombing.

* * *

 _"If we cut off the trail here," my father says, smacking his pointer onto the map. "we should be able to redirect the meat shipments from the Capitol to our nearest troops." I lean over to get a better look._

 _Tad, my older brother, playfully elbows me, and I jostle him back. Mom clears her throat, and Tad gets serious again. He smiles, grips my shoulder, and stares contemplatively at the spot at the end of Dad's pointer. He nods, his mind back on task. "Yeah, but if we move five miles north, we'd be making a pretty solid blockade around the northeast side of the District," he points out._ _A rebel officer, young but older than me, voices his approval. Dad moves his pointer five miles north._

 _"Scoot over, boy," an older rebel directs, nudging me so he has room to see the map lying on the table. I back up to give him some space and lean against the wall. The door swings open suddenly and a gust of wind musses my hair._

 _"Sorry I'm late," the rebel says. "Had a run-in with a Peacekeeper."_

 _Dad nods, understanding, and motions for the group to make room for the newcomer. Doing so squeezes the young rebel who liked Tad's plan out of the circle. He shrugs and comes over to stand by me. He acknowledges me, casually jutting out his chin. I reply in kind._

 _"I'm Pat," he introduces himself, holding his hand out for a shake. "You're the little Ganado, right?"_

 _"Yup," I confirm. "The name's Haven."_

 _"Nice to meet you, Ha-"_

BOOM!

 _Out of nowhere, a flash of light and heat erupts. The force of the blast knocks Pat and me off of our feet. Ears ringing and shoulder throbbing, I scramble to my feet. It hurts terribly, but I can only imagine the damage where the bomb actually hit. The table everyone was gathered around._

 _"Tad!" I shout, "Mom! Dad! TAD! TAD! MOM! DAD!"_

 _I run towards the table, despite the terrible heat, the black smoke filling the barn, and the awful, pulsing pain in my left shoulder. Shirt over my nose and waving my hands frantically to clear the smoke, I find... nothing. A smoldering burst of ash covers the floor, and there's- there's not even bodies. A severed hand here, a splash of blood there, that's all I see before I hear "Haven!" Pat yells my name again, grabbing my arm and pulling me backwards. A burning rafter comes falling out of the ceiling, and I run in the direction Pat's pulling me. I can't do anything about my parents and Tad, but I can save myself._

 _I'm mostly out of the path of the rafter when it lands. Mostly being the key word. Again, I'm knocked to the ground, this time my left arm pinned under a 400 pound piece of burning wood. I land on my shoulder, further pushing in what must have been shrapnel from the bomb. I scream, loud and terrible._

 _I see Pat get to his feet and look indecisively between me and the door. I'm crying, I think, from extreme physical and emotional pain. Because_ ow _. And because Tad. "Pat!" I wail. He seems to make a choice, because he scurries over to me and pulls. I'm getting out from underneath the rafter, but I can feel my arm tearing and being crushed underneath it. I scream again._

 _Pat finally pulls me out, and he half carries me to the exit. He coughing, coughing hard, but we're out of the building. He drops me and collapses onto all fours. He heaves into the grass, hacking and spitting. I just lie there. My arm is in ruins, and my family... My family is dead._

* * *

That was merely four months ago. Soon after the bombing, the remaining rebel leaders surrendered. Everything's changed. There's a glaring absence; Pat's one of the few others still on fire for- I mean, passionate for our cause. Not on fire. I don't like fire. My arm had to be amputated, and of course the most glaring absence is that of my family. I miss Mom and Dad, and I desperately miss Tad.

I wave to Aunt Beatrice and Uncle Woody before heading out. They bid me goodbye and give me their sympathetic smiles. I just nod back and head down the porch steps.

I walk down the road and into the last house on the left. I sit down on the mismatched furniture and help myself to a mug of coffee. I'm comfortable here, comfortable enough to take off my prosthetic. I unbuckle the straps and lay the wooden arm on the ground. When I sit back up, Pat's standing in the doorway. He's drinking his own cup of coffee. "Hey, man," he acknowledges in his raspy voice.

I clear my throat. "Hey," I reply, using my voice for the first time this week. Pat quirks the corner of his lip up and grips my good shoulder, like Tad used to do. I smile, but I know there are tears running down my face.

 **There's Haven for you! Thanks to 66samvr for him. I really like him, and I hope you guys do, too. I hope I did him justice.**

 **Please review and submit Tributes. I have so many open slots!**

 **Thanks!~MessyModgePodge**


	7. Zenon Malikai, District Two Male

**Zenon Malikai, District Two Male, age 18**

My knee bangs against the window frame, and I curse under my breath. Maybe my parents heard, and then I'd be in for another beating. I hold my breath for a minute, but there's no sign that they noticed. I can still hear them chatting with the neighbors about the Games, excited about ridding the District of another rebel. It disgusts me. I continue crawling out the window, and I land on the ground with a thump. I'm built like an ox, so it's a bit hard to be light on my feet. I wipe the dirt off my pants and head off to the debris of a bombed building.

There's only two wall still standing and it smells like ash, but this is the place where I always meet Nova at. She's my anchor, practically the only thing keeping me going. She's been my best friend for as long as I can remember, and never once has she not supported me. I sit where the walls meet, waiting for her to show up.

A figure moves a few yards from the crumbling wall, and I smile. I stand up so Nova can see me. The figure sees me, all right, but it's not Nova. It's my brother. "Ha!" Cole exclaims victoriously. "So this is where you always go."

I deepen my smirk, not letting him see me panic. Because I am panicking. If he knows about this place, he's bound to rat me out to my parents. And that would be bad. "Well, congratulations," I say, my voice condescending. "You've found me. You must be _so_ proud of yourself." Cole scowls, and I get a slight satisfaction from it.

"What do you do out here?" he asks, changing the subject.

I snort. How stupid does he think I am? I know if I say anything, he'll go running back to my parents to squeal on me. "I'd be happy to tell you if I believed you wouldn't go running to Mom and Dad, but unfortunately that's not the case."

A look of hurt flashes across his face, but it's gone so quickly that I think I imagined it. It gives me hope, though, that maybe a hint of the little brother I used to have is still there. Before the rebellion, we were close. We weren't just family, but friends, too. We would roughhouse, and tell each other secrets, and do anything for each other. We were truly brothers. Since the rebellion tore a rift in our family, though, I don't know him anymore. He's distant, cold, and nothing but Mom and Dad's eyes and ears. They used to love me, too, but the war changed that. The opposing sides of rebel and Loyalist were too vast of an issue to overcome, and they hate me for it. The feeling's mutual.

Cole snatches my wrist and turns away from me without even glancing in my direction. "Come on," he grumbles. I let him pull me home because if I wait, he'll only tattle on Nova, too.

Cole opens our front door and slides in almost guiltily. "Found him, guys," he mutters, subtly clinging to the walls in an effort to avoid the inevitable confrontation.

Mom stomps up to me and backhands me straight across my face. I can feel her wedding ring cut a gash in my cheek. My shoulder tense and my fists clench at the contact, and I barely restrain myself from pummeling her back. "Where were you?" she yells. "Out seeing that rebel girl again?!"

I don't answer her, and instead nurse my cheek. She grabs my wrist and drags me into the living room. She throws me forward, and I stumble to the ground. "Cole found him," Mom growls to Dad. "He was seeing the rebel girl."

Dad's boiling. I try to scramble back to my feet, but a heavy blow to the face sends me back to the ground. "You sneak out of our house? You're enough of a fool to think you can try to deceive us without consequences?" Dad punctuate the last word with a kick to my side. I curl around myself. "And to see a rebel girl?!" he shouts, pushing me into a position where I have to look at him. "How _dare_ you?" He swings at my head, and I duck under the punch. Defensively, I throw one of my own into his side. He stumbles back in pain and surprise.

For a few seconds we just stare at each other, my hands still clenched into fists. When he speaks, his voice is scarily calm. "Get out of my house. You are no longer my son, you're a disgrace to the name Malikai. I hope you get Reaped tomorrow. The District would be better off without a rebel like you."

I-, I don't know what to do. I don't know what to think. While this is a terrible, broken home, it's the only home I have. I've been _disowned_ , _kicked out_! I've got nowhere to go. In an attempt to mask my vulnerability, my fear, I smile. I quirk up the corner of my now-split lip and say, "I'm glad to be rid of this place." And I run. I sprint past an ashamed-looking Cole and straight out the door.

* * *

"Oh, my gosh," Nova breathes upon seeing me. I'm back in our spot, and she had arrived. "Your face!"

I play it down and grin at her. "I know, I know," I tease. "It's not as beautiful as yours." Her pink lips twitch into a smile, but she's frowning again in a second.

"I'm not kidding, Zenon. You're bleeding, and your cheek is turning purple." She reaches up with her delicate fingers and brushes them lightly over my face. I grab her hand and give her another smirk. I freeze for a split second, staring at her. The setting sun gives her glossy brown hair and ethereal glow, and her honey eyes sparkle. Her face is contorted in anger, but she's still gorgeous. I drop her hand maybe a bit too quickly.

"Why do you keep putting up with them?" she demands. She knows perfectly well where the bruises came from. "You can't stay in a place like that."

"Well, good news," I say, my voice laced with snarkiness. "I was disowned today."

She's shocked for a second, but after processing that her face breaks into a smile. "With where you're coming from, I think that's wonderful!"

"Well," I start, making puppy eyes. "It also means don't have a place to stay tonight."

She purses her lips. "You're not staying at my place. My parents would kill us both." There's never been anything romantic between us, but good parents like hers always worry.

I nod, a bit disappointed. "Don't worry about it, I'll figure something out." We chat until Nova's curfew. She wraps her arms around my shoulders and give me a quick hug before saying goodnight. After a few seconds of deliberating, I decide to brave going home.

I'm soon standing outside of my old window. I try to open it, but it's locked. Not knowing what else to do, I give it a gentle knock. A moment later, Cole's face is looking out. His eyes widen, and he glances over his shoulder. I give him an encouraging smile and gesture for him to let me in. He looks panicked and indecisive on what to do. _Please_ , I mouth, and he reluctantly but hurriedly unlocks the window.

"It's only for tonight and our parents can never know about this," he hisses, helping me through the window. He keep looking behind him.

" _Your_ parents," I correct. "And like I'd tell them anything. Thanks, by the way."

He nods. "Just be out of here early tomorrow." He slinks out the door and silently closes it.

I smile, because I can't believe Cole actually let me in.

 **There's Zenon for you! Thanks to Zverkinia for him, I hope he's written like you wanted.**

 **Please, review and submit!**

 **Thanks~ MessyModgePodge**


	8. Flare Disk, District Three Male

**Flare Disk, District Three Male, age 14**

"Luna? Luna." I shake her shoulder a little. "Aren't you going to eat something?"

She blinks, surprised. "Oh! Sorry, Flare." She gives me a smile and picks up her bread. Nibbling it thoughtfully, she looks at me. "I was just... thinking. About, you know."

Of course I know. It was something no eight-year-old, no _person_ should have to experience.

* * *

 _Mom lays on the couch. Her hands are shaking, and her breathing is ragged. I kneel besides her, Luna watching wide-eyed from behind me. The bullet wound in Mom's leg is bleeding so much, and the flesh around it is ragged._

 _All I can see is a similar wound from earlier in the rebellion. Instead of in my mom's leg, it's in my brother's chest. My breathing speeds up and I can't move. Luna touches my shoulder gently, jerking me back into the present. "How bad is it?" she whispers._

 _"It- it's not that bad," I lie. "I- I'll fix it. No biggie."_

 _Suddenly, there's a shout. Dad's yelling something frantically, but I can't make out what it is before the gunshot silences him. "Dad!" I yell, jumping to my feet._

 _"Meyer, Copperfield, around the back. Davidson, you're with me," a gruff voice muffled by a mouth guard commands._

 _"Peacekeepers," Mom hisses. Her eyes are wide, and she scrambles for the gun in the compartment under the coffee-table. She falls off the couch and drags herself towards it._

 _Before she reaches it, though, a pair of white-armored hands grabs her from behind. We all scream. She kicks wildly, but the bullet in her thigh doesn't help matters. The other Peacekeeper, Davidson, grapples with her arms, exposing her chest. I pull desperately on his elbow, but he throws me off. "Go! Go, Flare! Take Luna and run! Run!" Mom screams. The first Peacekeeper pulls out his gun and shoots her in the chest._

 _I freeze. This is exactly how I imagined Fuse looking, quickly bleeding out on the ground, a ragged, bloody wound in his chest. I can't move. I can't think. I can't even breathe. "Flare!" Luna cries. She's bawling her eyes out and tugging on my arms. "We have to get out of here!"_

 _I nod and grab her hand, pulling her behind me towards the back entrance. We run in a frenzy, and out of nowhere my face smashes into a white-armored chest. I let out a garbled cry when the Peacekeeper grabs my shoulders. He throws me to the ground, and Luna screams. She yells my name, then makes a break for the door. Another grabs her, and the first pulls out a gun._

 _"No!" I shriek, lunging at him. "_ No! _" He pulls the trigger. By some miracle, the gun clicks. It's empty._

 _The Peacekeeper holding Luna cusses at the first. "Dang you, Copperfield. You were supposed to bring ammo, you idiot!"_

 _"Shut up, Meyer," Copperfield growls. "I guess I'll just do this the old fashioned way."_

 _He pulls out his baton, and Luna wails. "No," Meyer says._

 _Copperfield looks offended. "Excuse me?"_

 _"If you're too stupid to bring freaking bullets, you're too stupid to kill an eight-year old. I'll do it." Meyer pulls out his own baton, and Luna tries to push him off of her. She raises her arms to protect her face, but Meyer doesn't miss a beat. He clubs her in the chest and she collapses to the ground._

 _"Luna!" I scream. "No!" But Copperfield is pulling my arms behind me and I can't get out of his grip._

 _Luna is wailing and trying to ward off the blows, but Meyer keeps coming at her._

 _"Stop it! STOP IT!" I bawl. The only response I get is a snicker from Copperfield and a pained cry from Luna._

 _It's at least five minutes before he stops. Luna's breathes are shuddering and uneven, and there's blood everywhere. "Luna!" I scream again. "_ Luna _!"_

 _Meyer wipes his baton on his pants, and red smears across them. "Your turn," he smirks._

 _I yell wordlessly, straining against my captor. The baton smacks against my ribs, and there's a crack. Meyer rears back again._ Crack _. My ribs again._ Crack _. My back of my head._ Crack. Crack. Crack. _My face._ Crack. Crack _. My chest._ Crack. _I stop knowing where I'm hit. Everywhere hurts._ Crack. Crack. Crack.

 _I'm on the ground. My muscles twitch uncontrollably, and breathing hurts so bad. Luna's hand weakly moves towards mine. Her fingertips brush mine, and a tear leaks out of her eyes. She's barely conscious, and I'm fading, too. My vision splits into fours, and I blink in a vain attempt to clear my head. "They dead?" Copperfield asks. His voice is muffled, like I'm hearing from underwater._

 _Meyer shakes his head. "But they will be soon enough. Let's go."_

 _Copperfield says something, I don't hear what it is. The footsteps recede and Luna and I are left alone. Her blue eyes look foggy, and they slowly close. She's dying._

 _Somehow, someway, I drag myself towards her. There's more noise from the front of the house, the Peacekeepers that shot my parents. I pull Luna into my arms and haul myself to my feet. My knees buckle, but I stay standing by pure willpower. I stumble down the stairs, and collapse at the bottom. I tow Luna onto my back and crawl out the door._

 _I check her for a pulse. It's faint, but it's there. Or maybe my hands are just throbbing. My mind is too muddled to make an accurate judgement. Still, I tear the sleeve off my shirt to stop the bleeding from behind her hairline. There are bruises blossoming all over her face. Or maybe my vision is just going. My ears ring, but I keep trying to tend to Luna. My arms give out from under me and I'm just laying half-way on top of her, my face pressed against the gravel in the alley I dragged us to. The edges of my vision is turning black, and the last thing I hear are voices echoing._

 _"What's that?"_

 _"Kids!"_

 _There are pounding footsteps, then nothing._

 _I never wanted to fight._

* * *

By some miracle, the community home people nursed us back to health. We've been there ever since, and we will be until I'm old enough to work. Well, if I survive the Reaping tomorrow. There's no guarantee, because the Capitol really seems to want all of the Disk family dead.

 **There's Flare! Thanks to District 9 Tribute for submitting him. His circumstances are tragic, and I definitely pity the kid.**

 **Please, review and submit! Fourteen Tributes submitted, one reserved, and nine spots left to go! Whoo-hoo!**

 **Thanks!~ MessyModgePodge**


	9. Hope Sophello, District Nine Female

**Hope Sophello, District Nine Female, age 15**

What are parents?

Are they my birth father, my birth mother?

When the war outside

Led them to double suicide,

What went through their minds?

They left me behind.

Are parents Kai and Laelia Candles?

Who gave me a home

And chose me

When my only option

Was adoption,

Who built a house for me

In one of Nine's few trees

So that I would feel free?

Because _they_ are the real parents to me.

* * *

Risk.

Risk makes me value the small things.

Kai's hand brushes over my cheek.

Gentle.

Is it the last time?

I'm scared for the Reapings.

Because in the Games, you cannot be

Gentle.

Risk.

Risk makes me value the normal things.

Laelia's hand drifts over the canvas

Flowing.

Delicate.

She's painting again.

Like always, it's stunning.

Bold.

Beautiful.

She smiles at me.

Beautiful.

She knows I'm terrified. She tells me to be

Bold.

I nod, but inside isn't faring as well. I feel

Delicate.

She hugs me, comforts me.

I can feel the tears

Flowing.

Risk.

Risk makes me value the big things.

Abella hugs me and

Bawls.

She's mildly autistic

And hates physical touch.

We don't hug much.

It's actually the first time.

She tells me she's scared for me.

I am, too.

I tell her not to be scared.

Still she

Bawls.

Risk.

 **Okay, that may have been a little(a lot) bumpy. I've never really written poetry before, but Hope's submitter asked that I write her POVs in that form. Please, if you have any tips, tell me. I'll need all the help I can get, because all of Hope's POVs will be poems. Also, because of that, it's super short. :P Sorry for that. Thanks to SparkHat for submitting her! Even though she's hard to write, I like her and hope (heh, heh) I did her justice!**

 **Please, submit and review! I have ten slots open still, so we're starting to get there!**

 **Thanks!~ MessyModgePodge**


	10. Moira Anderson, District Five Female

**Moira Anderson, District Five Female, age 12**

"Nooooooooo!" I wail. The teacher's are making everyone go to the front of the classroom and write a prepositional phrase on the board. I'm not shy, and I'm not stupid. I just don't want to.

"Moira," the teacher (I haven't bothered learning her name.) says. Her voice has an edge of warning to it.

I force tears to my eyes, and my chin quivers. I think it looks pretty believable. Oh, who am I kidding? Of course it looks believable. I'm great at this. See? The teacher looks uncomfortable and doesn't really know what to do. "Uh, it's okay. You don't have to go up to the board."

I let out a sob to look more convincing. "I- I can't!" I cry.

"Why not, Moira?" the teacher asks, heaving a sigh.

"I need to go to- to the baaaaaathroooom!" I howl.

"Fine. Out you go," she huffs.

I wipe my face and stand up to leave. _Ha_ , I think. _Idiot. No twelve year old_ actually _behaves like that_. Passing Ester, my apprentice and junior by one year, I slip a note onto her desk. _That's how you get out of class._ She reads it quickly, and I can sense her smile as I sashay out the door. There's not a hint of a tear on my face.

No one uses the gym this hour, so that's where I go. I'm sprawled on the bleachers taking a mental count of how many times I skipped class this month when I hear footsteps in the supposedly empty gym. I look up, and the school bully is stomping in my direction. Petra Sinraj. "Hey, Crybaby!" she calls.

I grin. "'Sup, Knucklehead?" She gives me a gentle punch on the shoulder. "Anything good today?" I ask.

Petra beams. "So, the third graders have lunch this hour. You'll never believe what this one kid had in his knapsack." She pulls out a whole chocolate rabbit, like the ones they sell during Easter, and my mouth waters.

"No. Way." She nods excitedly and grins. She breaks it into two pieces, and I take the bigger piece. Even so, I'm finished before Petra's gnawed down one rabbit ear. "Mmm..." I moan around the lump of chocolate in my mouth.

She glances at me. "Mmm, indeed."

* * *

"Daddyyy," I whine, my eyes big and sad. There's this gorgeous dress in the window. It must've come all the way from District Eight. It's navy blue, but there are bright flowers all over it. The skirt is flared, and the shoulders have just the right amount of poof. "But it's so prettyyyy!"

"No, honey," Dad shushes gently. "You already have a closet full of dresses quite like this. We don't need to spend money on it."

"But I want _this_ one!" I argue. Besides, we have buckets of money to spare. When your dad owns a power plant in the power District, you don't have to worry about money. "I want to wear it to the Reaping tomorrow so I can show everybody."

Dad shakes his head. My bottom lip quivers, and I squeeze tears into my eyes. I let out a pained sob. _Heh, heh._

Daddy sighs. "Okay, babycakes. You can have it. Just don't cry like that. When you're sad, you make Daddy sad."

Adults are so stupid.

 **There's Moira for you! Thanks to paperairline for her. She was a bit of a drag to write, hence the briefness of the chapter, but I think her brattiness adds a different element to the story. I hope that I did her justice, and that you liked reading her.**

 **I have two open slots left! Please, review and submit!**

 **Also, Xx-Katerina-xX, I'd appreciate it if you submitted your reserved spots by this time next week. If not, that's fine, but I just think it would be helpful.**

 **Thanks!~MessyModgePodge**


	11. May Ray Calibre, District Eleven Female

**May Ray Calibre, District Eleven Female, age 14**

Everyone's scared. Something they call "the Reaping" is tomorrow. I don't know what that means. It doesn't sound that scary to me. "Reap" means to harvest. We harvest all the time here in Eleven, so does that make every day a "Reaping"? If so, that's not scary at all. I don't know why people are saying "fight" and "death" and "Games". Games are fun, not fighting and death. And what does that have to do with "Reaping?"

Well, unless you mean the Grim Reaper. Isn't he death or something? Death is scary. He took my parents, who were always shielding me from the world outside, and he took my grandma. Grandma was so brave. She wore a white suit, first, but she told me she was just wearing it for pretend so she could help the people who don't like the people with the white suits. Something about giving information to the rebels. It's all very confusing. I guess it doesn't matter now, though, because she's dead and we're having these "reap" things.

I'm just walking outside when I see a white suit man hitting a man with normal, brown clothes. I rush to help him. "Don't hit people!" I call. "Why won't you guys be friends?" I ask, helping the brown clothes-ed man to his feet. He tears his arm from my grip and scowls.

"Mind your own business, girl," he growls.

"Oh, my name isn't 'girl.' It's Ma-" I start.

"I don't care, just get out of here," White Suit says. "I have a bone to pick with this rebel. Besides, you need to spend time with your family before the Reaping tomorrow."

There's those words again: rebel? Reaping? What does that mean? I'm about to ask when White Suit hits Brown Clothes again. I try to stop him, but someone's hand catches me across the face and I fall onto the ground.

Everyone seems so angry nowadays.

 **There's May Ray for you! Thanks to UnicornAK for her. Sorry this chapter was so short! I really had trouble writing May Ray. She's very confused about the concept of the Games because she didn't even know the rebellion was happening, so she was a bit difficult for me to write a long chapter. She also has no living family or friends, and no one knows her name, so I couldn't really have her interacting with people or preparing for the Reaping or give you backstory! So, sorry about the briefness of this one, too.**

 **There's still two open slots! Please, submit and review!**

 **Thanks!~MessyModgePodge**


	12. Jericho Flynn, District Nine Male

**Jericho Flynn, District Nine Male, age 13**

Keep your head down and work. That's what my father always says, and that's why we're alive. Uncle Archer didn't, and look where it got him. Look where it got all of the rebels. I wanted to help, I really did, but everyone who had any sense knew it was a lost cause.

* * *

 _The sun's hot. It's really hot. I'm working in the field, even though it's a Wednesday morning. It's the first time I've been here during the week, since I've had school before. I'm here full-time, now, to help my family get by. Besides, why should I go to school when my fate will ultimately still be that of a field-worker?_

 _I swing my scythe in a monotonous motion. Pull, slice, pull, slice, pull, slice. The routine of it is rather calming. There are workers all around me. Beside me, a middle-aged man with a limp acknowledges me. I nod back at him and continue my work. Pull, slice, pull, slice, pull, slice._

 _A shout breaks the air. I'm surprised, and I stop cutting the wheat to look. Two Peacekeepers wade through the stalks, yelling ferociously. The man beside me glances back nervously, then drops his scythe and breaks into a hobbling run. The Peacekeepers yell again, and hurriedly smack down the wheat in their way. The man falls, and I start to move in his direction._

 _A hand clasps down on my shoulder. "Head down and work," my dad hisses in my ear. "He was a rebel. His fate is sealed."_

 _The Peacekeepers seize the man, and he screams. I nod. Dad's right, there's nothing anyone can do for the man._

 _"Good," Dad says. "Keep working."_

 _I look at the ground in front of me. The Peacekeepers are beating the man, beating him bad. I can tell from his raw screams. Pull, slice, pull, slice, pull, slice. I try to drown the man's cries with the beat of my work. Pull, slice, pull, slice, pull, slice._

 _There's no noise now. I'm tempted to look up to see the damage, but I don't. Someone bumps into me, and I glance up. It's the Peacekeeper. There are spatters of blood on his white armor, and some wiped onto my clothes when he bumped into me. I gulp. Glancing down, I see the second Peacekeeper dragging the man behind him. His body is bloodied and broken. I think he's dead. No, he must be dead. I wet my lips uncomfortably._

 _"Sorry, sir," I say to the Peacekeeper who ran into me. I don't make eye contact, and he doesn't even glance in my direction._

 _They're gone in a second, and I keep working. Pull, slice, pull, slice, pull, slice. It's kind of different, though, with the man's blood on my shoulder._

* * *

That was a year ago. Several more instances like that happened, but I avoided confrontation and left unharmed. I'm back in the fields today. Pull, slice, pull, slice, pull, slice. I'm interrupted by a hand on my shoulder. I tense. I'm surprised, and surprise never turns out well.

I turn around, and I'm met with a Peacekeeper. My eyes widen. Peacekeepers have never noticed me before, and I'd hoped they never would.

"Hey, kid, go home," he says. His voice is muffled through the helmet obscuring his face.

"What?" I squeak. I heard him fine, but I still don't know why he's speaking to me.

"The Reaping is tomorrow, and we're supposed to let eligible kids go home today 'cause it might be there last day here in Nine."

"I, I- uh, yes, sir," I stutter. I scramble out of the field and into the clearing. For the past year or so, work has been my life. I take a deep breath and head on home.

Felicity'll be there. She's my baby sister. I guess during the war, Mom and Dad felt safe enough to have another kid. It's definitely weird having another member of the family, but now that I'm used to her, I love her dearly. I pluck a violet from the side of the road. Purple seems to be her favorite color. It's hard to tell, though, with babies.

Mom's standing in the doorway, baby at her breast. "Jericho!" Mom calls, setting Felicity down. "You're home early." She looks at the sun. "Way early."

"Yeah, the Peacekeepers told me to take the day off because the Reaping is tomorrow, so I did," I explain. Mom envelopes me in a hug, and I return it.

I then turn to Felicity. I tuck the violet behind her ear and coo. She laughs her little baby laugh and squeezes my finger.

I grin. Keep your head down and work, and maybe you'll be as lucky as I am.

 **There's Jericho for you! I don't know if I really captured who he is that well, but I like him a lot. Thanks to Elim9 for him! I hope I did him justice.**

 **Review and submit! There are still two open spots! While I do have, like, ten other Tributes to write before the actual Reapings start, it'd be really nice to have a full roster.**

 **Thank!~MessyModgePodge**


	13. Aggie Pruitt, District Twelve Female

**Augustine "Aggie" Pruitt, District Twelve Female, age 13**

The bully must be at least 17 years old. He's got a scruffy beard, and he towers over the little blond boy. "Hey!" I yell. "Hey, you! You quit that!"

The bully turns around. He looks around for a second, then sees me at about a foot below his eye level. He laughs. "Whatcha' gon' do 'bout it, pipsqueak?" I scowl, and he snickers. "Ain't ya just so little and cute?" He squats so he can looks me in the eye.

I jut my chin out. "I think it's really funny that you're so much taller than me but it's still so easy for me to look down at you."

One of his friends sniggers, and the bully's face turns bright red. He fumbles for a recovery, but he's obviously not that great with words. He retreats, pretending to preserve his dignity. "Come on, guys. This shrimp ain't worth mah time." He stomps away, and the sniggering friend shoots me a smile before following him.

I can't help but feel a sense of victory. "Yeah, you walk away! Yeah, take that!" I yell after him. He doesn't turn around, simple flashing his middle finger in my direction.

Any sense of victory that I had previously been swimming in disappears when I see who I rescued. It's Jet, the little kid that Koa insisted we take in. He never really talks. I mean, since he chooses to be so insignificant, I really don't see why we still have him around. Honestly, he's a waste of food.

* * *

 _Holden's dead. Little Holden. He was only a kid, just ten years old, and he was trying to help me out of the bomb wreckage. They shot him, like they shot everyone else. I only lived because they thought I was already dead._

 _Everyone's shooting now, too. It's both epic and terrifying. The screams and the blood coming from every direction are overwhelming, and I almost feel the need to play dead like before. I'm not stupid, though, so I obviously don't. I know I can handle myself, and I know that my sister and my dad are there to help if anything goes wrong. This is a piece of ca-_

Oh. _That hurt. That frickin' hurt! Koa's leaning over me now, her face skewed in horror. "Hey, it's gonna be okay, Aggie. You're gonna be_ fine _, okay?" she yells over the gunfire. I'm gonna be fine. Right, 'cause it's not like I was just_ shot in the stomach or anything! _Koa grunts as she tries to lift me. Eventually, she gets me over her shoulder and starts lugging me to an alley out of the crossfire._

 _We're almost there when there's a shout. I mean, of course there's a shout. We're in the middle of a battle. But both Koa and I know that shout belongs to our dad. Koa whips around. Dad is grappling with a Loyalist fighter over his gun, and neither seems to be able to get the upper hand. From the side, a rebel from our group aiming his gun at the Loyalist to give Dad some much needed assistance. What happens next is the most terrible occurrence of pure chance to ever happen in Panem. At the same time that the gun fires, someone knocks into the firing rebel and the Loyalist pulls my dad around him. The bullet doesn't hit the Loyalist. It hits my dad. He's dead before he hits the ground._

 _"Dad! DAD! DADDY!" Koa screams. She's bawling, and the only reason she doesn't run to him is because I'm still on her shoulders. I'd scream, too, if I had it in me at this point. Watching your father die is awful, but Koa's taking it even harder since Mom's public execution._

 _Koa closes her eyes and swallows before lugging me the rest of the way into the alley. She's moving as fast as she can while carrying me, and I'm starting to get dizzy. That's why I think I'm imagining the young, terrified voice._

 _"Father? Father! Wake up! You can't leave me! Father! I need you, Father. Father!" it bawls. I'd pity it if I wasn't, you know,_ bleeding out. _Koa_ _stops right in her tracks._

 _"Did you hear that?" she says. She looks at me wide-eyed, and I'd tell her no if I had the strength left for it. "We have to help him." She runs forwards and is met by the body of a man lying in the alley. A pair of big blue eyes stares out from behind a stack of boxes._

 _"Hello?" Koa calls. "It's okay. We're not gonna hurt you." The boy blinks._

 _"My- my father..." he whispers._

 _"I know," Koa smiles. "We just lost our dad, too. Don't worry, we'll take care of you." Speak for yourself, Koa, I'm not having anything to do with this kid._

 _He comes out from behind the boxes and takes Koa's hand. Of course, we take him back home and take care of him. Ugh._

 **There's Aggie for you! She's a little firecracker. Thanks to District 9 Tribute for her. I really like her.**

 **Sorry I haven't updated in a while. My siblings came home from college for a bit, and I was spending time with them. I also just didn't really have the motivation for a bit :/**

 **THIS SYOT IS NOW CLOSED! Thanks to everyone who submitted. I can't wait to get writing the actual Games stuff! Still, review though. I really like the feedback.**

 **Thanks~ MessyModgePodge**


	14. Caspian Kairi, District Four Male

**Caspian Kairi, District Four Male, age 16**

"Have a good day at school, Rowan," I tell my little brother, handing him his red lunchbox.

Rowan rolls his eyes playfully. "You know, I'm thirteen now. You don't have to walk me to school anymore." I smile and tousle his hair. It starts to come loose from the funny little man bun that he always wears it in. "Hey!" he protests, fixing his hair.

"I know, I just like it," I say. "And I know you do, too."

Rowan grins his squinty grin and hugs me before dashing away to his friends. I stand and watch him mess around for a few seconds. It's really nice to see that the work that I do helps my brother have something I couldn't: an education. When I was his age, I was already working on the boats. Ma and Pa couldn't quite cover the costs of tuition, so I couldn't go to school. Instead, I worked on one of the fishing boats.

* * *

 _I run back and forth, dragging buckets of smelly bait to the older fishermen. I reach into the slime and pull out a squirming little fish. The man isn't looking at me, so raise the fish higher._

 _He pushes my arm out of his face. "Put it back, boy. A storm's brewing."_

 _I sigh and begin hauling the bait bucket back to where I got it. The wind whips my shoulder-length hair into my eyes, and I brace myself to keep from falling over. Waves taller than my house spring out of the sea and shake the boat. One hand on the bucket's handle and the other shielding my face from the wind, I inch forward._

 _"Caspian!" someone yells. "Caspian, look out!"_

 _I turn around just in time to see the chain to haul in the nets come blowing in my direction. I try to duck, but it clips my forehead. I hit the deck, literally, and I think I pass out._

* * *

Fortunately, the boat's capsize had no casualties and no similar incidents have happened in the six years since. Besides, the scar's kind of cool.

I turn to walk home. I barely make it a block before I'm met be Jaxon and Chloe. I groan. Don't get me wrong, they're my best friends. They're just so... confrontational. The twins are each holding up a sign. In bold print, Jaxon's says "THE CAPITOL KILLS" and Chloe's reads "DEATH ISN'T A GAME". They march around the stage that the Reaping for the Capitol's new brainchild will be held, waving their signs in the air.

"Caspian!" Chloe cries. She runs over to me, grinning. "We're protesting the Hunger Games for tomorrow. Wanna help?" She waves Jaxon over.

"Yeah!" he says, pulling out a sign that reads "I'M A KID, NOT A KILLER" and shoving it into my hands.

I pass it right back to him. "I don't want to start any fights..." I say, rubbing my neck. "I know Peacekeepers don't take this kind of thing lightly."

"Yeah, well, we don't take the slaughter of innocents lightly," Jaxon defensively says, crossing his arms.

"I know," I say, "but what is this doing to stop it?"

Chloe raises her sign above her head. "We're making a statement," she says.

Jaxon shrugs. "Better than doing nothing."

I feel guilty. I don't agree with the Games, and I don't want them to happen. "Okay, I'll take a sign," I mutter. Chloe squeals and hugs me, and Jaxon hands me the sign.

"Thanks, bro," he says, beaming.

I grin back and hold up the sign. That is, until the Peacekeeper's come.

I hurriedly put away my sign and grab Chloe's hand. "What are you doing?" she asks.

"Peacekeepers are coming," I say.

"Good," Jaxon interrupts. "Let them see."

"No, not good!" I answer him. "Put away your signs! They're coming!"

Chloe pulls her arm away from me and thrusts her sign in the air. "Death isn't a Game!" she yells.

"The Capitol kills!" Jaxon jumps in.

"Guys!" I hiss.

The Peacekeepers come closer. "What's this?" the taller one demands.

"Oh, it's nothing, we were just lea-" I start.

"The Capitol kills!" Jaxon shouts, waving his sign in the Peacekeepers' faces. The Peacekeeper bats the sign out of Jaxon's hands and twist his arms behind his back. Jaxon lets out a little cry of pain.

"Jax!" Chloe yells, and the other Peacekeeper snatches the sign out of her hands.

"Guys, let's not get carried away!" I interrupt, putting my hand on the Peacekeeper's wrist. "We don't want a fight. We'll leave right away. My friends and I are sorry for your trouble."

"Speak for yourself," Chloe says.

"Yeah," Jaxon groans. "Not sorry."

The Peacekeeper twists Jaxon's arms further, and Jax yells. Chloe springs at the Peacekeeper and they fall to the ground. The second Peacekeeper heads after them.

I sigh and punch the Peacekeeper. Anything for friends, right?

 **There's Caspian for you! Thanks to Jailynne for him. He's pretty cool. I don't feel like I did him justice, but I tried... I'm sorry I haven't updated in ages and am just super inconsistent all of the time! I'll try to be better.**

 **Review, review!**

 **Thanks!~ MessyModgePodge**


	15. Loretta Blunt, District Six Female

**Loretta Blunt, District Six Female, age 16**

"And you would not _believe_ what he did then!" Lia says, dramatically waving her hands in the air.

"Yeah, yeah," Harry mutters, his cheeks red with embarrassment. "It wasn't even that big of a deal."

I laugh and nudge him, making him blush even harder. "Oh, really, Harry? I know Lia likes to exaggerate, but you _do_ tend to-" I start.

 _Crash!_ "KYRO!" my little sister, Elena, shouts from downstairs.

"Loretta?" Mom calls. "Could you handle that for me? I'm in the kitchen with Stu."

I sigh and turn back to Lia and Harry. "Sorry, guys. I better take care of that."

Lia huffs, long and exaggerated. "You _never_ get to spend time with us. Let Kyro and Elena take care of themselves," she argues.

I roll my eyes. "Lia. I'm not leaving my moody 14 year old sister and my 10 year old troublemaker of a brother to handle their own spats. I have to take care of this, okay? I'm sure I'll be back in 10 minutes."

"Fine," Lia moans. "But we'll be watching the clock."

I close the door behind me and rush down the stairs. I step into the living room to find Kyro sitting indignantly on the table, arms folded and jaw set. "Hey, little brother," I say. "You doing okay?"

"Yeah, whatever," he growls.

"Okay... Where'd Elena get off to?" I ask. Kyro rolls his eyes and points out the door.

"She left. What else is new?" he grumbles. I sigh. Elena is... complicated. She really is a sweet girl, but she's always running off to other places. "Finding herself", she calls it. I guess she just feels smothered by our large family and the responsibility that comes with it. She kind of has been forced into adulthood prematurely. We have an older sister, but she isn't exactly super helpful. She has a disorder that prevents her from speaking or even thinking like an adult. She's so sweet and tries her hardest to help out, but her disorder has kind of forced the role of the oldest child to me, and also makes Elena, the third child, have to be more mature. Elena just doesn't know how to handle it, and she often runs away to free herself.

I walk into the kitchen, where I'm met by a chaotic scene. Stu, my five year old brother, throws food around and scrambles around the kitchen. Mom chases after him desperately, crawling behind him under the table and running to pull him off of the cabinets. I grab Stu around his middle and he squeals happily. He grins at me, the light from the window illuminating his golden hair to look like a halo.

"Oh, thank goodness, Loretta. You're amazing," Mom pants, running her hand through her frazzled hair.

"No problem, Mom," I answer. "But I came in here to tell you that Elena's run off again."

Mom's face falls. "Oh. Oh, okay. I'll go find her. Think you can hold down the fort?"

"I-" I start. My friends are over, waiting for me upstairs, and I get straddled with babysitting duty. I'm about to protest, but I notice the bags under Mom's eyes and her already graying hair, and I can't. "Of course, Momma."

She grins and presses her lips to my forehead. "Bless you, dear. I'll be back before you know it."

"Okay, Mom. Love you."

* * *

After checking on my older sister Myla, setting up Stu in the playroom, and trying to settle down Kyro, I start to head back upstairs. I'm about halfway up the staircase when Kyro yells my name. "Loretta?"

"I'm coming!" I respond. I sigh and go back into the living room.

* * *

Having set up Kyro's game for him, I move towards the stairs again. A noise comes from Myla's room. "On my way, Myla!"

* * *

I move towards the stairs again.

"Loretta?" Kyro calls. "Stu is messing with my stuff."

"Okay, I'm coming," I yell.

* * *

"Loretta?"

"Coming!"

* * *

"Loretta?"

"On it!"

* * *

"Loret-"

"On my way!"

* * *

"Lo-"

"Already there!"

* * *

Five hours, three broken vases, nine spilled drinks, and one bathroom accident later, I finally head back upstairs. There's a note on the bed from Lia and Harry explaining that they left after a couple hours. I sigh and go back into the kitchen. Mom opens the door and collapses on the coach. Elena follows her inside, head hung in shame.

She goes into her room and closes the door. I'm about to follow her to give her yet another talk when there's a knock on the front door. "Loretta, could you get that please?" Mom asks.

I open the door to find Garret, the District healer and my mentor. "Hey, Lore. Ready for work?"

"Hi, Garret. I'll be out in a minute," I say. I quickly go and tell Mom that Garret's here and I should go help him at the infirmary. She waves me away tiredly, and I head back outside.

"Okay, I'm ready to go!" I say to Garret.

"Great!" he grins. We walk to the infirmary, making light conversation.

"... but all in all, it wasn't _too_ hectic," Garret wraps up his story. "Anyway, how about your day? How are you?"

"Oh, you know," I mumble vaguely. "Pretty good."

Garret glances at me a bit skeptically. "I'm glad to hear that," he says. "What made today good?"

His question catches me a bit off guard. It's actually a really good question, despite the fact that it doesn't seem to be asked very often. "Um, well," I stammer, scrambling for the right answer. "Lia and Harry came over."

"Oh!" Garret exclaims, his expression now pleased. "That's great! What'd you guys do?"

"Well," I blush, embarrassed. "actually nothing. Elena ran off, and I got babysitting duty. Again."

Garret looks at me, sympathetic. "And how do you feel about that?"

I heave a sigh. "It's just really frustrating, you know? I just wanna hang out with my friends without having to worry about other people. I have a life, too, right? I- I just wish it wasn't so exhausting. But I hate myself for thinking that! I mean, they _need_ me. What kind of person would I be neglected that responsibility?" I run my hands through my thick hair.

"Honestly?" Garret says. "A normal one. But I, for one, am glad that you are not normal, Lore. Do you think you're good now?" he asks. "You know I don't like you working on patients when you're flustered."

"No," I say, smiling. "I'm feeling much better now."

 **Thanks to Xx-Katerina-xX for Loretta! I think that she is a very interesting, deep character, which is really amazing but also kind of hard to write. I hope I did her justice and that you all like her.**

 **Please review! I know it's been another eternity since I've updated, but I've been kind of busy. I'll try to do better, though I can't promise consistency, sadly.**

 **Thanks!~MessyModgePodge**


	16. Andreas Thernstrom, District Five Male

**Andreas Thernstrom, District Five Male, age 17**

I sit alone at the orphanage, twiddling my thumbs idly. It's supposed to be lunch time, but seriously, who'd eat this trash? A boy walks behind me, accidentally sloshing water on my shoulder. He apologizes swiftly, eyes widening and body tensing. He recognized me immediately, and he knows he should be scared. Sneering, I knock his cup over. It tips, drenching his entire front side. He breathes a sigh of relief, glad that I wasn't in a bad mood today, then scampers off to do who knows what. It's not like anything worth doing is here, and boy, do I hate it.

Yeah, I flipping hate it. I wouldn't have to be here if the stupid rebels didn't blow up the stupid power factory.

* * *

 _"Goodbye, Andreas," Dad says, picking up the lunch packs off of the table. "Your mother and I will be back after work. Don't get into too much trouble while we're gone," he teases._

 _"Bye, Dad. I won't," I answer, barely looking up from my bowl of cereal._

 _"Love you, baby," Mom says, hobbling over. She pushes my wavy black hair out of the way to kiss me on the forehead. I duck under the kiss, and hug her instead._

 _"I don't even understand why you gotta go to work, Mom," I protest, pointedly eyeing her bloated belly._

 _She shrugs. "You know the rebels are all on strike right now. That just means the rest of us need to pick up the slack."_

 _"Yeah, but 'the rest of us'_ not _including women who are five months pregnant," I say._

 _She chuckles. "It is what it is, baby. Somebody's gotta help the Capitol out a bit. If generating power is all I can do, then I'll generate power."_

 _"I know, Mom. I love you," I tell her._

 _She grins. "I know you do, baby."_

* * *

The rebels bombed the factory later that day. No one survived. My dad, my mom, and my unborn baby sister, blown to oblivion. Everything that was familiar was gone. Even the house was foreclosed on a few days later.

Not knowing where else to go, I ran to the orphanage. Surely they'd help out a kid whose life was turned upside down in a minute. At first they did. But things don't always go well for a Loyalist at an entirely rebel orphanage. They started out with kind words, but those soured. The harsh words turned to harsh blows, and even the illusion of pleasantness disappeared. So I ran.

The third day of sleeping in a cardboard box, a beam of light shone in my bloodshot eyes. A man with white hair and wrinkles, but a proud stature and commanding aura, stood pointing a flashlight at me. "Oh, Lord," he breathed. "Poor young lad."

Groggy and weak from not eating for three days, I didn't fight him when he pulled me to my feet. In fact, I had sagged against him as he draped my arm over his shoulder. "Who are- where are you taking me?" I had moaned, voice hoarse from lack of use.

The man had looked over his shoulder at me and smiled reassuringly. "Jefferson Short is the name. I'm here to help."

And he did. He brought me back to his house and treated me like he would his own son, nursing me back to health and putting a roof over my head. After a while, I was starting to feel like part of a family again. I started working to pull my own weight a bit, even though Jefferson would have willingly done so for me. He cared about me, and I didn't have to be so angry or scared or lonely anymore.

The rebels took him from me, too.

* * *

 _Like any other day, I walk back home from my job. Deciding to take a shortcut to Jefferson's house, I squeeze into an alley. My form has gotten bigger since Jefferson took be in, and all the manual labor from work has really helped me to build up some muscle. I freeze. In the middle of the alley, there's the twisted body of a Peacekeeper. I rush to him and immediately check for a pulse. There isn't one. His gun isn't on him either. That could only mean rebels. And they've just armed themselves with a Peacekeeper-grade weapon._

 _Crap._

 _I slink around the back of Jefferson's house, trying my hardes not to make a sound. Slowly, I peek my head through the window. I barely stop the gasp from escaping my lips. In the middle of the room, Jefferson is tied to a chair. His lip is split, his white hair tousled, and his face is bruised, but still his back is straight and proud. A goateed man paces to his left, swinging a bloodied crowbar. A boy, a year older than me at the most, is in front of Jefferson, eyes darting around the room and fingers shakily gripping a shard of glass. A red-headed woman stands behind Jefferson, holding her newly-raided gun to his head in execution style._

 _"Peter, you'll get blood all over yourself if you stand there," Redhead says. The boy, Peter, shuffles awkwardly, tapping his sneaker with his other foot._

 _Goatee frowns. "You heard your mother. Move outta the way."_

 _Peter mumbles something indistinguishable._

 _"What was that, Pete?" Goatee asks, his eyes flashing the same warning glance that Jefferson gives me when I say something rude._

 _Peter sighs. "I said, 'yes, Dad'." He takes a step away from Jefferson and closer to the door where I'm standing. I hold my breath, scared that I've been discovered, but no one gives and signs that they've seen me._

 _Redhead nods a thanks to Goatee and cocks her gun. A barely detectable tension ripples through Jefferson at the sound. "Any last words?" Redhead asks._

 _Despite the beating they gave his frail body, he raises his chin defiantly. "Long live the Capitol."_

 _And just like that, he's gone. My mentor, my protector, my friend... gone. I- I'm numb. Cold, maybe, is a better word for it. I feel nothing but rage and a terrible sense of deja vu. The rebels took everything that I had. Again._

 _I burst in the back door, screaming bloody murder. I don't fear being discovered anymore. I don't fear anything anymore. I only have one thought: They will pay._

 _I backhand Peter, and he falls, his head hitting the wall with a_ crack _. Redhead whips around to point the gun at me. I rush at her and grab the gun from her hands. We wrestle over it for a minute, and I making progress until the crowbar hits my collarbone. I reel backwards, and the gun skids across the floor and out of reach._

 _I scramble to my feet, Goatee and Redhead already circling me like sharks who smelled blood in the water. I take a step backwards, by foot bumping the chair holding Jefferson's cooling corpse._ This is for you, Old Jeff, _I think._ You and all my family. _I grab the chair out from under him and hurl it at Goatee. He falls, and I tackle Redhead, my hands squeezing her throat._

 _She gasps, the air not reaching her lungs. Goatee, in a rage, tries to slug me with his crowbar. I turn swiftly, using Redhead to absorb the hits. She lets out a pained cry, and I drop her. Goatee screams, obviously horrified at what he had done._

 _"Hyacinth! No, no, no!" He drops the crowbar to hold her as she dies._

 _I seize the opportunity to pick up the crowbar. Redhead, or Hyacinth, as Goatee called her, lifts her hand weakly. "Le-Leroy..." she wheezes._

 _He doesn't get the warning. I bash in his head, his blood and brains splattering Redhead's face. She coughs, tears already carving lines in the gore._

 _I sneer at her and put all of my weight on her throat. "You killed everyone I ever loved. Here's to returning the favor," I say. I don't know what she would respond, and I'll never find out. My shoe squelches as I pull it out of her collapsed trachea._

 _I hear a sound and look up. Peter crawls closer to discarded gun, hiccuping and whimpering and shaking. He sees me notice him and dives toward the gun. I dive at him. When I hit him and he rolls away from me, I pick up the gun. Slowly, numbly, almost robotically, I step walk towards him. He backpedals, and before long his back his the wall. "I- I- I'm sorry!" he blubbers. "I'm sorry, please! Please! No! I- I- please!"_

 _I straddle his stomach, pinning him to the ground. He whimpers, his eyes three times their original size. He's just a boy, really. He can't be more than a year older than me. Really, the rebels should make their killing sprees a little less of a family affair._

 _I put the gun to Peter's temple, and he flinches. "No, no please! Don't, I- I- no! Please!" he begs. Tears cascade down his face. He stares at me, pleading. Wide-eyed. Scared. I remember feeling like that. This boy didn't really hurt Jefferson, or my parents, or unborn sister. He had just watched as I murdered his parents with nothing but a crowbar and my left shoe._

 _He has lost_ everything _today._

 _..._

 _But so have I._

 _"Long. Live. The Capitol," I hiss. I pull the trigger, and Peter's blood paint the wall._

 _I stand up and look around at the carcasses I have created. I can't stay here. I can't take this._

 _I have lost everything today; my home, my friend, my happiness... and my humanity._

 _..._

 _I hate the rebels._

 **There's Andreas, District Five male and super scary Tribute! Sorry it has been, like, a month since I've updated. School started, I got busy. Expect things to be sporadic. Thanks to Zverkinia for Andreas! I hope I did him justice!**

 **Review, please!**

 **Thanks!~ MessyModgePodge**


	17. Dustin Vakes, District Twelve Male

**Dustin Vakes, District Twelve Male, age 18**

I glance down at my book, "The Advanced Demon Summoner's Guide to Devil Worship" by E. Ville de Monne. It's the fourth book in the series, and I'm elated for the fifth book, "The Expert Demon Summoner's Guide to Human Sacrifice," to come out.

The candles flicker ominously and cast eerie shadows across the dark room. The satanic star has been drawn. Everything, _everything_ , is _perrrrrfect_. I chuckle to myself and flip one page to the incantation. The first word has barely left my lips when my door flings open, sending in a gust of air that snuffs out my candles and cuts a beam of light in the dank atmosphere.

"Come downstairs for dinner, Dustin," my mom, standing in the newly opened doorway, says.

I recoil from the light and hiss a little. "The undead do not need the sustenance of mortals." Mom sighs. She takes my arm and leads me out of the room. The beams of brilliancy from the overhead light brushes my skin, and I howl, balking from the glow. "THE LIGGGHT!" I screech, refusing to let myself be extracted from the door frame.

Mom crosses her arms and waits. "You know I love you, Dustin, but this has got to stop. When is this phase going to end?" she demands.

I suck in a huge mouthful of air. Phase? _Phase?_ I'm not a moody teenager who follows their heart wherever it takes them! I am the lord of the demons! All grotesque beings cower before me! "I'm a devil summoner, not an art major! It's not a phase, Mom!" I protest.

"Oh, please, Dustin."

I huff and begrudgingly follow Mom down the stairs.

* * *

I push my peas around with my spoon, staring down at my book instead of actually eating them. E. Ville de Monne is the best author. E. Ville de Monne is _the only_ author!

"Dustin?" Dad says over the table.

I'm engrossed in the book, completely ignoring my father. What could he possibly have to say that could be more important than learning how to bring the wrath of the dead onto unsuspecting citizens?

"Dustin."

Apparently, dog entrails are a good idea. There are a few stray dogs around here, right? I'm sure I could-

"Dustin!"

I look up from my book and hiss. Dad facepalms and snaps his jaw shut with an annoyed click. "Eat your peas."

"I'm reading."

Dad runs his hand through his hair. "Oh, my God..." he moans.

I recoil and hiss louder. "No, not Him!"

 **Thanks to 66samvr for Dustin. I hope I did him justice. He was fun to write. Sorry about the briefness of this chapter and how long it takes me to update. :P Thanks for reviewing, it really helps me want to write more. Again, super sorry for the long wait. School is a lot right now, and I'm just a bit overwhelmed.**

 **Thanks!~ MessyModgePodge**


	18. Drakken Ardelean, District Seven Male

**Drakken Ardelean, District Seven Male, age 18**

 _The Peacekeepers march closer. Dad gives us a hand signal, and I pull my ski mask over my face. My companions do the same. Mom, then my friend Blake, then my brother Corvus jump down silently. Unfortunately, one of the Peacekeepers notices. He gives a shout, and a sudden commotion goes through the Peacekeeper ranks. They turn around as a unit and fire. Corvus dives to side, rolling harmlessly into the ditch. Blake drops and covers his head, hastily crawling away before the Peacekeepers can get another shot at him. Mom, however, isn't so lucky. One bullet tears through her chest just below the collarbone; another two blast through her abdomen. She lets out a pained cry and collapses._

 _"A woman!" one of the Peacekeepers shouts._

 _Another laughs. "Oh, we're gonna have some fun," he comments._

 _From the ditch, Corvus gives a bellow of rage. He charges into the Peacekeeper ranks, and Dad jumps down at the same time. Now, only my friends Christian, Samantha and I are still in the treeline._

 _"The bomb, bro!" Christian shouts towards me before leaping into the commotion._

 _I'm about to drip down and place my self-crafted bomb on the Peacekeeper jeep, like we planned, when I see a burly Peacekeeper make his way towards my mom. She tries to drag herself away, but he grabs her before she can gain an inch of ground. Flicking his face guard upward, he pulls off her mask and grins a predatory, jaguar-like grin. I'm frozen by fear, and I can only watch as he rapes her._

 _"Drax! Drax! The flipping bomb, Drakken!" Samantha screams at me._

 _I reach into my pack with shaking fingers, and slowly pull out the device. Sam, realizing we don't have time to waste, snatches it out of my hands and drops out of the trees. I rip my eyes from the gruesome scene I witnessed and follow Sam out of the trees._

 _"RUN, PEOPLE!" Sam shouts, slamming her hand onto the jeep. She takes off without a second glance._

 _Blake scrambles after her, pulling himself away from a stout Peacekeeper. Christian sends a bullet into a few more Peacekeepers before yanking a screaming, clawing Corvus away from the scene. I run after them. Dad hesitates, tears streaming down his face as he turns from the broken body of the woman he loves and runs._

 _There's a blast._

* * *

I jolt out of bed, breathing heavily and covered in sweat. Just- just a dream. No, not a dream. It's worse than a dream, because it happened. It actually happened.

My door opens with a creak, and Corvus sticks his head in. "You okay, Drakken?" he says.

"Ye-yeah," I huff. "Just a bad dream."

Corvus nods. "I get it. Must be hard with that Games thing coming up. Don't stress about getting Reaped, though," he says. I'm confused, but then I realize that it's 3:00 am on the morning of the Reaping. Yeah, the ones for the death match. He thinks that was what I was worried about. "It's not like there's a huge chance of you getting Reaped. They probably rigged it so that only the rebels get sent in, yeah?" I decide to play along. I know Corvus gets even more worked up about Mom than I do.

I sigh. " _We're_ rebels, Corv."

"They don't know that."

"I'm sure they'll figure it out eventually," I contradict.

"Yeah, but 'eventually' doesn't mean in less than 12 hours."

"Who's to say they don't know already?" I counter.

"By what evidence?" he parries. "You're really good at blowing stuff up. Anything that we could have left behind would have been incinerated."

"Whatever." I fold my arms and pull the blanket farther over my head.

Corvus smirks. "You just say that because you know I'm right."

I sigh. "Okay, sure, Corvus. You win," I mutter.

He frowns at my lack of enthusiasm. "Okay, you're tired. Go back to bed."

I'm not, but I nod anyway. I don't feel like talking after the dre- memory I had.

"Good night," Corvus says, standing to leave.

"Don't you mean 'good morning'?" I reply.

Corvus grins. "Whatever."

I smile. "You just say that because you know I'm right," I parrot.

"Oh, shut up," he laughs, and closes the door.

 **Tada! There's Drakken. (Woohoo, two chapters in one day!) I hope you like him. He's pretty cool. Thanks to Sparky She-Demon for him. Hope I did him justice! Sorry, I wish it was longer, but I haven't been super motivated lately and I didn't want to give you guys really bad writing. Review, please!**

 **Thanks~ MessyModgePodge**


	19. Anna Paulsen, District Eight Female

**Anna Paulsen, District Eight Female, age 15**

I wave to the large, bubbly group of girls that I was hanging out with before turning to walk to work.

"Anna!" a small voice cries. "Where are you going?" Max pops up by my side, staring up at me with wide, expectant eyes. He always looks at me like that. Like I'm, I don't know, a superhero or something. I- I'm really not, and he of all people should know that. He's seen me bawl my eyes out over my amazing sister who really didn't deserve to die. He's seen me tear up homework assignments in my room after my heartbroken parents criticize my failure. He knows that "happy, fun, and silly" is. a mask that covers up "sad, broken, and depressed." But he still looks at me like I'm amazing.

I grin at him. "Hiya, Max! I gotta go to work."

A quivering half-smile spreads across his face. "No, you don't," he says.

"Um, yes I do," I argue. " _Someone_ has to make some money to put food on the table."

His smile spreads. "That's really, really brave of you. It's so cool that you already have a job and stuff. I wish I was as good at things as you are."

He really is so sweet. "Aw, Max. I didn't have a job when I was fourteen, either. I think you're just as good, if not better, at things than I am," I say, giving him an encouraging grin. "It's just something that I need to do to pull my weight in my family."

He blushes and toes the ground. "Well, not today. They closed the factories for today because the Reaping is tomorrow."

"Oh, crap. The Reaping is tomorrow," I repeat. "Oh, crap!" I say louder. "If I don't have work today, then I have to go home and show my parents the D+ I got on my history test!"

Max shoots me a sympathetic look. "M-maybe listening to the lesson instead of passing notes is a good idea," he says hesitantly.

I sigh. "You're right, I just... I don't know. I- sorry, Max. I have to get home."

Max nods apologetically. "Good luck with your parents!"

"Thanks," I mutter. "See you later!"

"Bye!"

It takes all of my willpower to walk straight home instead of stopping by Krissie's or Thimble's or Genevieve's house, but I know my parents will be upset if I'm not home on time. They'll already be angry with my D+, but they'll be _really_ angry if I'm also home late. Speed-walking with my eyes fixed in front of me, I vow not to stop at Maybel's. She got a pet guinea pig two days ago. I've never seen one before, and I've heard they're super cute. Reluctantly, I pass it.

I stop in front of my own house and sigh. I creak open the door, prepared for a verbal assault. "Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad. I'm home!" I call.

Mom walks into the front hall to greet me, my little brother Matthew clinging to her legs. "Hello, Anna."

I bend over to coo at Matthew, who giggles. "Anna!" he cries in his googly little voice.

Mom takes a step in front, putting herself between Matthew and me. "How was school?" she asks briskly.

"Good," I answer after a moment's hesitation. When I decide to start talking, though, I answer maybe a bit too eagerly. "Maybel Stitch got a guinea pig two days ago. She says it's not actually a pig, but it's more like a hamster. I'm pretty sure a hamster is, like, a really cute mouse without a tail. And Emory's cousin broke his arm a while ago. I dunno how their gonna pay for that, with his dad getting laid off and all, but I'm sure he-"

"I meant your test," Mom interrupts. "You got back your results in history, today, didn't you? You needed a B to pass the class."

"Uh, well," I stutter, rubbing the back of my neck uncomfortably. "I didn't completely fail?"

Mom looks at me, annoyed. "Anna," she says warningly. It really sounds more like "Annaaaaaaaa?"

"D+" I whisper.

"Anna!" she shouts.

"Sorry, Mom! Really, though, how am I supposed to know the ratio of Loyalist deaths to Rebel deaths or the four main routes that the rebels used to communicate and the ways they're now blocked off?" I cry.

"You _study!"_ she screams. She puts her hand to her forehead, frustrated. "Cassandra would've cared more about her grades than about Maybel Stitch's new guinea pig," she says under her breath. She thinks I don't hear it, but I do. I hear it every time she wishes it was me instead of my perfect sister. _Cassandra would've studied harder, Cassandra wouldn't have needed a tutor we can barely afford, Cassandra would've been a better influence on her friends, Cassandra would've done the dishes without me asking, Cassandra this, Cassandra that._ I hear it every time she wishes I had been diagnosed with a fast-acting cancer instead of Cassandra.

I lower my head and nod sadly. "Sorry," I whisper again, and I run upstairs so she doesn't see the tears rolling down my face.

 **Oh, my gosh. I am so, so sorry I haven't updated in literally almost three months! I have plenty of excuses, but I know you probably don't need to hear about them. :/ I just finished midterm exams, so I'll have some more free time to update for the next couple weeks. Again, really sorry for the inconsistency and delay.**

 **This was Anna, and thanks to t4courtney for her. The chapter was kinda choppy, so sorry about that, too. I hope I did her justice anyway.**

 **I'm going to try to have everybody's intros done by February. If I don't, please yell at me. :P**

 **Reviews are always encouraging!**

 **Thanks!~MessyModgePodge**


	20. Cleo Zaal, District Ten Female

**Cleo Zaal, District Ten Female, age 17**

 _The sun beats down on the meadow where the cows are grazing. I pat my favorite, a chocolate heifer with a heart-shaped white patch on her back, while Teddy reads his book out loud. He fiddles absentmindedly with my ebony hair. Our parents are out for a while. They said they'd be back as soon as they're done with their delivery. The Bensons or the Rydingers or the Wyzinghams or somebody had paid for 8 carts of milk and enough eggs for the month, so Mom and Dad had to bring it to them. I can't remember who it was, only that it would take a long time because they lived on the other side of the District._

 _I stop wondering when Teddy does the voice for a character he's decided has a hilarious, squeaky accent. He even does the faces to make it funnier. I laugh, and Teddy ruffles my hair playfully, giggling himself. He finishes the chapter and puts a corn husk in the book to mark his page._

 _"Okay, Cleo, I'm gonna finish milking the cows. Old Bridget is about to burst," he says, rubbing a spotted cow with a particularly swollen udder._

 _"Okay!" I answer brightly, running off to chase the butterflies that often frequent the meadow. They're so beautiful, I could watch them for hours! I follow after a large, graceful swallowtail with giant yellow wings. It dips and weaves delicately, flitting through the air like a feather. I dash after it. Some neighbors see me and wave. They always are super friendly with me, and I like to think that they like me. I wave back to them._

 _A horse clops into our driveway, and I abandon the butterfly to go investigate. It's a white horse. Mom and Dad took Ranger and Starlight, who are brown and black, respectively. Teddy glances back at me, his face contorted with worry. "Stay back," he says, then runs to answer the door._

 _Naturally, I follow him. I hide behind the banister while Teddy opens the door. Peeking over the railing, I see a tall, lanky man with soot-streaked light brown hair. "Uh, Thaddeus Zaal?" he rasps, looking down at a paper in his hand._

 _After a moment of hesitation, Teddy nods. "That's me."_

 _The man in the doorway nods. "Pat Marton. I came as soon as I could." Pat glances around warily, as if he's afraid someone might overhear. He lowers his voice and beckons Teddy closer._ _I can't really understand what's being said, but what I can make out scares me beyond belief: "barn bombing" and "so many dead" and "parents" and "I'm sorry for your loss."_

 _Teddy staggers backwards in disbelief, his hand clasped over his mouth to stop him from screaming. Tears stream silently down his cheeks, and Pat puts a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry for your loss," he repeats._

 _I put two and two together. Mom and Dad aren't coming back. Ever. I let out a huge wail._

* * *

 _I want justice, and I will not rest until it is served._

I jab the pitchfork into the haystack and hurl it aggressively over my shoulder.

 _I_ will _avenge my parents, no matter the cost._

I pick up a pail of water and fling its contents into the water trough for the horses.

 _They will not have died for nothing._

I yank the brush through Bridget's coat, muttering.

 _The Capitol_ will _pay._

"Cleo?"

"What?" I snap, jerked out of my thoughts.

Teddy smiles warily at me, holding up his hands the way he would to calm a horse. "You okay?"

I look down at my feet, a little embarrassed. "Of course. Why do you ask?" I answer.

He reaches over and takes the brush from me. "You're just being a little more... violent than usual." He runs the brush through Bridget's coat gently, cooing as he works out the tangles. "Are you sure you're alright? I know you've been having a rough time since Mom and Dad... you know."

"No I haven't," I lie, teeth gritted.

Teddy sets the brush down and raises my chin so I have to look at him. His eyes are sympathetic. "Cleo. You've shut out all of your friends, all you think about is vengeance, and you haven't even looked at the meadow since we got the news. It's full of butterflies this time of year. You used to love butterflies. C'mon, you know you can talk to me," he says.

I sigh. "I know. I'm just, I don't know, trying to deal with it on my own. I know I've changed a lot since the bombing, but really. I'm fine."

He pulls me close to his chest, resting his head on top of mine. I can hear his heartbeat, and I sag into him. "Okay," he says. "That's good. We're moving on, right?"

I don't respond. The answer is no.

 **Tada! Cleo! Thanks to Xx-Katarina-xX for her! She's pretty intense and I like her a lot. She and Haven had no relation, but it did say in her form that her parents died on a mission with other rebels. I thought it would be cool if I slightly altered the timeline of her history so that they died in the Ganado's barn bombing. I hope that's okay :/ I hope I did her justice and that you guys like her!**

 **P.S. Happy Christmas Eve! I know, weird time to update, but I had written most of it prior.**

 **Thanks!~ MessyModgePodge**


	21. Cezar Maguire, District One Male

**Cezar Maguire, District One Male, age 18**

I wipe the sweat from my eyes and throw my towel back into my locker. I've been at the gym for eight hours. Dad's at work, like always, and Mom is at a Capitol convention for the weekend. Lissa's at a friend's house for the day, so the house is empty and I can do whatever I want.

Walking out of the locker room, I take a swig of water out of my bottle. I bump into Dublin, a popular jock at the school I go to. "Oh! Cezar! Hey, man," he says. I suppose he thinks we're friends. I always hang around the group, listening and chatting up all the right people. It's nice how oblivious he is to the fact that I have him and all the rest wrapped around my little finger.

I beam at him. "Hi! Sorry about that," I apologize, screwing the cap back onto my water bottle.

"No problem, bro. Didn't even splash me."

"Nice," I reply. "I do have rather cat-like reflexes," I say playfully, wiggling my eyebrows.

He laughs. "Yeah, dude. You were working out, huh?"

"Yes, that's typically what one does at the gym."

He chuckles again. "True, true. You must come here a lot, yeah? You got some pretty sick gains." He looks jealously at my prominent biceps and muscled shoulders. "Didn't, uh, didn't just start in case you got Reaped, did you?" His eyes drop nervously to the floor.

"No, I've been going here for a while. Is that what you did?" I answer, being sure to fill my voice with concern.

"Uh, yeah," he stammers.

I smile at him reassuringly. "I'm sure you'll be fine. There must be tens of thousands of names in the Reaping bowl, right? And you can't have more than, oh, seven slips in the drawing?"

"Yeah," he mutters, still unconvinced.

"You won't get picked, Dublin."

"Yeah," he repeats. I know I'm not getting anywhere. I try a new tactic.

"You know, the elbow's the strongest point in your body," I say nonchalantly.

"What?" Dublin asks.

"Yeah. A good elbow to the throat could take anyone down for a good few minutes. Longer, if you do it right, and forever if you try really hard."

"Really?"

"Yes," I answer. "You're not gonna get picked. Of that I can almost assure you. If you do by some slim chance get chosen, however, just... _bam_." I mimic throwing my elbow into someone.

Dublin's face breaks into a grin. "Wow! Okay! Thanks so much, C! I'm really glad you're my friend," he says.

 _Friend_. _Boss_ is more like it. "No problem. See you around!" I say and begin to walk off, knowing he'll stop me and try to repay me. In three... two...

"Cezar, wait. Gotta be some way I can pay you back," he says.

I turn back around, smile already plastered on my face. "What for? It was nothing."

"I'd hardly call life-saving advice nothing. C'mon, let me make it up to you."

I laugh. "Well, when you put it that way... just cover for me when I skip Home Ec. on Tuesday and we'll call it even."

"You hanging out with Toenails again?" he asks, wrinkling his nose.

"You know his name is Tony," I answer, keeping my voice steady even though the nickname makes me angry.

"I don't know why you bother with that freak," Dublin scoffs.

"He's my friend." _Unlike you,_ I add mentally.

Dublin shakes his head. "Whatever, dude. Thanks for the tip. I'll make up something to tell the Teach for you."

He gives me a friendly punch on the shoulder and hits one of my newer bruises. I hardly stop myself from wincing, instead saying, "Great, I'll see you around then," through loosely clenched teeth.

"See you," he answers, and I duck out of the locker room.

* * *

I flop down onto the couch, smoothie from my favorite place in hand. My muscles ache from the exertion, but the pain is a good pain, proof that progress is happening.

I sip the smoothie and sigh contentedly.

As all good things do, it ends with the slamming of a door and a frustrated sigh. "Cezar!" my dad shouts.

I jump to my feet, knocking my smoothie to the ground in the process, where it explodes in a splash of pink fruit. "Dad!" I answer, surprised. "You're home!"

He stomps into the room and, upon seeing the mess, lets out an irritated cry. "Cezar, wall."

"But Dad-" I protest.

"Now!" he shouts. He slips off his belt, snapping it menacingly a few times.

Compliantly, I take my shirt off and face the wall so my back is exposed. It always goes more quickly when I don't put up a fight. That way he feels like he wins. He just does it so he feels like he's winning, like he's in control or something.

 _Crack!_ The belt snaps against my back. Pain flares across the area, leaving a tender strip of flesh. _Crack! Crack! Crack!_ I clench my fists and keep my breaths even. He'll stop when I cry, if I don't cry too soon, so I make sure to wait until the opportune time. _Crack! Crack! Crack!_

 _In and out, Cezar. In and out,_ I say to myself.

 _Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack!_ My back flares with pain, and the tiny trickles of blood pool at the top of my pants.

I can take more. I know I can take more. But I don't, because I don't want to. He thinks he's in control. Holding the belt makes him feel like a bigger man. He may be holding the belt, but _I'm_ the one pulling the strings. Finally, I let out a little groan. "Ngh," I huff, releasing a tear or two out of each eye.

Dad exhales sharply and snaps the belt against my back once more before finally looping it back into his pants.

"Clean up your mess, Cezar. Your sister will be home soon," he sighs. He rubs his forehead, but he's visibly more relaxed than when he came home.

"Yes, Dad," I say, making sure to let my voice quiver a bit. I grab a towel and quickly mop the blood off my back before wiping up the spilled smoothie. The red of the berries hides the bloodstains nicely, and I'm grateful for that when my little sister skips through the door.

"Cezar!" Lissa cries. Dad lets out a little grumble and skulks out of the room.

"Hey, Lissa," I grin. She throws her arms around me in a hug, and I wince a little as she squeezes my fresh wounds. She notices the slight change of expression and looks suddenly concerned.

"Are you okay?" she asks. She's pretty perceptive for an eight year old.

"Of course," I lie, smiling reassuringly at her. "Just felt like I pulled something at the gym."

"You hurt yourself there a lot, don't you?" she says. It's more of a statement than a question, and I hope she's not catching on. Even though Dad ignores her and is never there for her, she looks at him like every little girl looks at her father: in awe. I couldn't take that away from her. She deserves so much better. I can't ruin her view of Dad when there's nothing I can do to protect her from him. I'm going to a way to protect her, though. Her _and_ me. I'll get us out of this well-disguised hellhole where luxury is prioritized over love. I'll get her somewhere where no one will belittle her.

"I guess I'm just a clumsy person," I finally answer her. She shrugs, content with my answer.

I'll get us out of here. I'll get _me_ out of here.

 **Oh, wow! I still exist! I'm soooo sorry I haven't updated in forever. I've been busy with my extracurriculars and have been out of town for a while. I'll still be inconsistent and stuff, but I should have more free time to write soon.**

 **Thanks to Xx-Katarina-xX for Cezar! I really like his character and am not sure how much justice I did him. I'm not sure how well I captured his clever, even manipulative side, but I tried and hope he turned out okay. Four more characters to introduce, and then we can get on to some new stuff.**

 **Again, sorry it's been literally almost three months! Thanks for being patient with me.**

 **~MessyModgePodge**


End file.
